Days on tour pass very strangely. Under Nurse Zayn's watchful eye I'm better in two days. After a few more shows in Canada and a few more shows at the top of the United States, we weaved around and were now settled somewhere in Ohio.
We're still a big part of the news, and it's harder to avoid when you're bored driving hours through the middle of nowhere. It's too easy to check twitter or google Zayn's name.
It's also harder to avoid the way the anti-Charlotte movement is growing. I knew it would. And the more and more my name is becoming attached to his, amplified by my own Valentine's Day Instagram with the roses, the angrier it makes this group of fans. I have what they want, and in their eyes I'm gloating.
But Jane assured me it was a good move when Zayn and I called, for both of our careers. She likes keeping my name in the news, and she things it's good for the public to see Zayn settling down.
So I made headlines just from posting that one picture, with outlets gleaning as much information as they could. Some figured out what hotel we were in; another tracked down the florist that helped Zayn put it together.
The tattoo parlor's Instagram the day after caused another bout of interest, with speculation of what Zayn could have had tattooed for me. No one guessed it was me that got the ink, and I kind of liked it that way.
I'm up to a million followers on Instagram, and even more on Twitter. I try not to think about that too much, because it's a little scary. The one night I did I ended up going through and deleting most of my pictures; not wanting the invasion into my once normal and boring life. It doesn't seem to matter because pro and anti Charlotte Instagrams are popping up everyday, and most are armed with those older pictures that I'd now deleted. One of them has pictures I never posted on Instagram, and I quickly realize the only place they could have been found is my still very private Facebook. So I delete Facebook.
It's a weird feeling. Walking the fine line of listening to Jane and playing along, but trying to fly below the radar. I'm learning it's probably not possible. This is also scary, and I don't tell Zayn. He hates this topic.
North Dakota got a picture of us stopping at a Starbucks, caught Zayn holding the door for me and launched headlines of how chivalrous he is.
In Indiana I get cornered in a 7-11 by a pack of girls, eager for information and asking where Zayn is. That show ends up being one of the worst, because I attract way more attention than at other shows and half way through Preston has to take me backstage.
Zayn all but stops the entire show mid-song. He shows a little restraint, waiting instead until he's done with the song to run offstage and make sure I'm okay. When I assure him that I am, I almost have to push him back on and the smart little fans in the audience realize my absence caused him to leave the stage and rumors abound as to why I left the show. (I think they ultimately settle on a fan punching me, which isn't true, but is funny. Honorable mentions go to the ones that speculate I broke up with him mid-show, and the one person who weirdly decides this means I'm pregnant with Zayn's child.)
Yesterday we had a snowball fight, because I'd never had a real one, and I don't know where the amateur paparazzi were hiding that snapped that one but they should probably be hired by TMZ. We thought we were completely alone.
We both are starting to care less, happy with Jane's assurance and because it's just continuing the real narrative. We are a happy couple. In real life and playing out in magazines and on blogs.
I've never been to any of the places we're stopping, so sometimes when Zayn has meet and greets or sound checks Holly and I wander around to sight see. The few times Zayn and I have tried to explore on our own we were swarmed, because it was usually in smaller cities buzzing with news that he was in town. I know he hates that he can't show me everything, and I hate it too, but I'm grateful to have Holly.
We're becoming really, really good friends. She's funny and smart, and reminds me of a much more practical Alli. It doesn't hurt that she's the only person who can make sense of Zayn's tantrums with me, because there have been quite a few.
Like the one when they didn't have a seat saved for me and I had to watch the show from the side stage. I didn't care at all, but he really did.
Or the one where he got press launched on him at the last minute and had to do a bunch of radio wraps when we thought he had the morning off and had planned to get breakfast at some place we found on Yelp.
Or the one where he missed a high note and then pouted for an hour after the show.
He's very moody. It's trying, but I'm starting to understand him more. It doesn't mean I'm not terrified to think how he acts when I'm not around. I've noticed I'm one of the only things that can calm him down.
Being in these close of quarters with him is giving me a crash course on what it's like to live with Zayn Malik 24/7, the light and the dark sides of it. I'd spent the last six months getting glimpses of only highlights; he was always in a good mood around me. This is what real life - or at least Zayn's real, nomadic life - is like, and I've learned a lot in a little under two weeks.
He's impossible to wake up in the morning (I'd unfortunately been given the task of rousing him early for press in a few cities and I'd had quite a few pillows thrown at me).
If he doesn't get to wake up naturally, good luck talking to him before he has coffee (which I have learned to expertly prepare for him in hotel coffee machines). He makes a few concessions for me, I've noticed, but I'm not immune to being growled at if I start asking too many questions pre-black cup.
He will willingly eat pancakes every morning (which is fine with me because it makes me feel better about always eating French toast). And he prefers to eat breakfast in bed (so we do, every morning, a room service picnic on white hotel sheets and blankets).
We're completely incompatible when it comes to taking showers; he likes taking ridiculously long lukewarm ones, and he likes having me in them with him even more (but I like taking quick, efficient ones and I like the water to be scalding, so I usually escape when he closes his eyes to wash his face).
I often have to remind him to brush his teeth before we leave a hotel room (which is bizarre because how are they so blindingly white when he can't be bothered to take care of them?). But because we're both obsessively organized we're able to easily share a suitcase that moves from the bus, to a hotel, and then back to the bus (we both fold our underwear so it must be a match made in heaven).
He smokes a lot more than I knew about. I'd seen him do it a handful of times before, but now I know it's a pretty regular occurrence. It didn't really bother me, but it definitely surprised me.
He patiently attempts to teach me to play all of his favorite video games, and I suck at all of them (and now fervently hate video games even more, but he's so proud of me when I do even the smallest thing right that I usually say yes when he asks if I want more lessons).
He's incredibly considerate, of me and of the fact that there are a lot of boring aspects to life on tour. The day after Valentine's Day he had me list out all of my favorite movies, then willingly has watched them one by one with me when we had downtime on the bus (and he will deny tearing up at The Notebook, but he did). He's more understanding about when I want to spend time with Holly, and if she's busy he does his best to make sure I'll have something to keep me occupied when he has work to do.
We have the same ridiculous, constant appetite with the taste buds of an eleven-year-old boy and he's stocked the bus with my favorite snacks accordingly (which really isn't a good thing, he's a total enabler and we're taking down at least one giant bag of Cheetos a day). He's really excited when he gets to be the one to show me something new, or take me to little restaurants he has found during tours past (which stopped pretty quickly when the last few times we ended up having to take our food to go after the excitement of a celebrity in their midst proves too much for a small town).
But the way he serenades me with what I've told him is my favorite ballad of his, every night without fail, is by far my favorite part of this surreal nomadic lifestyle. The fans have caught on, and the ones that embrace the fact that their favorite star is off the market have seemed to notice and taken to twitter to share how Zayn always "dedicates 'Little Things' to Charlotte."
I don't mind. They capture the way he looks at me in grainy Vines and Youtubes and when I'm exceptionally bored or depressed at the way my twitter mentions are mainly girls wishing me dead I like to watch them.
But whether dealing with lovely Zayn or difficult Zayn, I still haven't been able to shake the way his confessions Valentine's Day morning have weighed me down. Being told I was the reason his entire life was easier, that I had single handedly made him enjoy his career again felt like massive pressure to put squarely on the shoulders of one very ordinary girl.
Because I wouldn't always be able to tag along on tour, and I wasn't sure if his intention was to make me feel like I should. I didn't want to second-guess a confession that earnest and vulnerable, but he had to know how telling me all of that would feel.
I continued to push it all back, mainly because there was never an opportune moment to tell him how that had made me feel. Any time on tour would be selfish. Either he was about to go do something job related, whether it be press or a meet and greet or it's almost show time. He'd been so proud of putting on such good shows that I didn't want to mess up the streak.
So I kept it locked up, but eventually shared a little bit with Holly while Zayn was in his bus calling in to a radio show.
"It just feels like a lot. And what happens when I don't go to that Asian bit coming up. Or when I don't go to Australia with him?"
"Oh shit, you're not going on the rest of the tour?" Holly exclaims.
"See? No. I can't. I can't just follow him around the world," I fall back against the cushions on her bus's bench.
"I'm just giving you a hard time," Holly assures me, squeezing my knee. "I get it. I totally get it. You need your own life."
"I do." I nod. "I can just already tell that that's going to be a fight."
"Well that's not for like, two months, so just enjoy the rest of this tour," Holly advises. "How long will you guys stay at in New York after this?"
"I'm not sure, we haven't really talked about it," a sigh falls past my lips. "He's really excited to show me his place there. And I think his friend Harry will be in town, who I haven't met yet... but I'm just really ready to get back to my life, y'know?"
"You haven't met Harry?" Holly's eyes widen and there's a shock in her voice that makes me curious.
"No, should I have?"
"You're sure you haven't met him before? Not even the first night at that party?"
"Never met anyone named Harry," I shake my head and Holly looks intrigued.
"Wow. I thought they were a package deal. But I guess Harry hasn't been here since last month, so that makes since. He's just usually around a lot, like sometimes for entire tours so it's weird you haven't met him."
"What does he do? Like, that he can pick up his life and follow Zayn around?" I ask, aware that people probably wonder the same thing about me.
"He got some massive inheritance a few years ago. Like, crazy money. Zayn money. So I think he just does whatever he wants all the time," Holly explains. "You'll really like him. He's probably the nicest guy I've ever met in my life."
I can't say I'm not intrigued to finally meet this guy who plays such a huge role in Zayn's life, but I'm also ready to get home and stop living out of a suitcase.
"All done!" Zayn bounds through the door and plops down next to me, wrapping an arm around me and planting a kiss to the side of my head.
"How was it?" I ask, running a hand through his fluffy hair.
"Bit boring, really." Zayn answers. "What've you ladies been up to?"
"Just talking about Harry." Holly answers. "I can't believe Charlie hasn't met him yet!"
"Crazy, isn't it?" Zayn agrees. "I think they'll get on just fine."
"Has anyone ever met Harry and not loved him?" Holly asks, and my eyes flit from her face to Zayn's.
"I mean, no. I doubt it."
"You know you have meet and greets tonight, right?" Holly changes the subject, as I sink into his chest and relax while the two of them go on about and the rest of the week's work schedule.
"But I've got a couple hours before, right? I want to take Charlie to this Italian place I found last time I was here." Zayn mindlessly plays with my hair and I perk up at the promise of pizza.
"Oh yeah, you guys are good as long as you head out soon. And be careful, remember what happened last time we were here?"
Zayn shoots her a look and I'm missing something. "Fuck, yeah, we'll bring Preston. You hungry, my love?"
I nod and lean up off of him. "You hungry, Holly?"
"Oh no, I've got a ton of shit to do. You guys have fun!"
I wave as I follow Zayn out of the bus. "What happened last time?"
He squeezes my hand with one of his and holds his phone in the other, trying to track down Preston. "Got mobbed. Bad."
"Oh. At this restaurant we're going to?" I press.
"Yeah," he nods, climbing back on to his bus. "Preston's going to meet us there."
"Okay." I watch as he slides a denim jacket over his shirt. "You need a jacket?"
I nod and he tosses me his leather jacket, which I slide my arms into.
"Food's great. Best spaghetti Bolognese ever."
"Shit, I was craving pizza." I frown and he kisses it off my lips.
"We could split?" He asks, between kisses. "Or you could order incorrectly and be jealous of my Bolognese all night."
"We'll see." I tilt my head and admire the way his cheekbones jut out when he smiles like that.
"Car's here." His tongue juts out to sweep his lips before he pulls me by the hand. I'm aware we're likely about to walk into a mob scene but at this point I'm getting pretty used to those.
~*~
"They'll give it to you!" I exclaim. "Please! Come on!"
"Even if I do, both of us are shit at cooking. Who's going to make it?" Zayn's shaking his head and settled back against the booth in resignation. There are way too many empty plates for three people on the table and I feel like I could burst underneath the combination of the heavy Italian food and delicious Italian beer and the way my beautiful boyfriend only has eyes for me despite almost every pair of eyes in the room staring squarely at him.
"I'll learn. I will learn. If you get them to give it to you." I hold up my hand as a solemn promise.
"If you don't get it I have a feeling you'll be making a pit stop in Ohio on your way back to LA, Malik," Preston joins in and Zayn smiles.
"Alright, alright. Watch her, will you?" Zayn finally gives in, sliding out from the booth and disappearing to find our waitress.
"He's so whipped," Preston chuckles, finishing the rest of his beer. "I don't know what kind of spell you've got him under."
I just shrug one of my shoulders and smile, warm and happy. I love spending time with Preston, and I'm starting to really love life on tour. I almost wish it wasn't ending. I miss our house and LA, but I wonder how much I'm going to miss this tour family.
Zayn triumphantly returns to the table with a piece of paper in his hand.
"All I had to do was kiss her on the cheek in a photo!" He smiles triumphantly and slides the paper towards me. "Looks like you're going to need to get an apron."
"Happily!" I slip the paper into my purse as the waitress delivers the check.
"Just so you know, there's a group of girls waiting outside," she warns, gesturing toward the front of the restaurant.
"Thanks for letting us know," Zayn smiles politely at her and places a hundred on top of our fifty-dollar check. "You ready, love?"
I nod and lift both hands up, waiting to be pulled from the booth. Zayn obliges, lacing our fingers and helping me to my feet.
"How you want to do this?" He asked Preston once he had his arm protectively wrapped around my waist. "Our car's waiting in the lot."
"I'll just lead the way," Preston answers, getting out in front of us. We shuffle behind him, heads down.
They're all calling his name or asking for pictures but for some reason one voice makes him freeze in place, arm still tucked around me. We've almost reached the car, Preston's holding open the door, but Zayn just stops and jerks his head around.
"Rebecca?" I hear his voice say, and before I can really investigate Preston's at our side and Zayn is passing me off.
"Can you get her in the car, please?" He doesn't look at me, just hands me off like I'm luggage or something, guiding me from his arms to Preston's. And for some reason, I just obey, because I'm too confused to protest.
Once Preston delivers me to the safety of the chauffeured SUV and shuts me inside it feels less safe, and more like a holding cell. I press my nose to the tinted glass and see the top of Zayn's head, interacting with a really pretty blonde.
And then something stirs in me and I'm climbing back out to the parking lot, reaching Zayn and the blonde and Preston and standing just on the fringe, to watch. I don't want to make my presence known; I just want to know what's going on.
"But you're good, yeah?" I hear, in my favorite stilted accent. His hand is on her shoulder. Friendly, definitely not romantic, but it doesn't really matter to my jealous female mind. Who is she?
She nods, tucks some bleached blonde hair behind her ear and speaks. Her voice is sweet, high-pitched, and she doesn't look older than nineteen. She's tiny, with massive boobs and she's wearing clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. "Great, really good. You changed your number?"
"Yeah. Got a girlfriend now. It's serious." This doesn't make me feel better, as the identity of the girl clicks into place. She must be this city's girl. And she looks absolutely nothing like me.
"It's weird. Last time I was with you when things got crazy here." She reminisces and I feel sick, I drop my eyes for the first time since I've been given access to a window of Zayn's old life.
"Yeah, listen, I've got to get back to her. I'm glad you're well." He's trying to extricate himself, and I look back up to see the way he drops his hand and she goes to grab his arm.
"It's great to see you. And here, I wanted to give you this," she slides her hand down his arm and presses something white into his palm. Paper. Maybe I really am going to be sick.
I turn and head back into the car before I'm detected, but I slam the door so hard once I'm back inside it makes nearly every head turn. Including the dark one I didn't mean to alert. Fuck.
His mouth draws into a perfect circle, and he taps the girl's shoulder before he heads my direction with Preston.
I wish there was somewhere to hide. Or I could just jump out the other side and start running. But I have no idea where I am and where would I really go? Instead I decide to just climb over the middle seat and settle myself in the very back row. It seems like the best idea since I don't want to be too close to him right now.
I wish we were alone.
"Charlie." His voice is dripping with desperation the minute he opens the door, and he looks heartbroken when he sees me in the back, and not at his side.
I reach over and slide my fingers into his palm, and he seems to think it means I want to hold his hand. But I snatch the folded up piece of paper and rip it dramatically into as many pieces as I physically can, letting the shreds fall into my lap and the car seat around me.
"Charlie." He tries again, voice even more pathetic, turning around completely to face me.
"Not now." I say, surprised that I can even find my voice. Preston is rounding the car, and the driver is there, and I just don't want to talk. I don't know what I want to say.
It might be a blessing that we're not alone.
The ride is so awkward. Preston tries to make light, small talk and Zayn gives small answers and I stay mute in the back, arms tight against my chest.
I wish I had experience with this. I wish I'd had a boyfriend before, so I knew the protocol. What to do when your boyfriend runs into an ex. Even if I had, it probably would have been a normal guy and his ex probably wouldn't have looked like a playmate.
Not that this is his ex. The fact it was just someone he called when he came to town, the fact that she was someone just like me... I haven't worked out how that makes me feel yet.
Once we get back to the venue Preston can't get fast enough, and Zayn just looks terrified when he climbs out of the car.
He waits, holding the door open, watching me like I'm feral and he's unsure what I'll do next, which doesn't seem fair since I haven't said a word. He pulls the middle seat forward to allow me to climb out and I ignore the hand he offers to help me climb down and hop to the ground myself.
Once I'm out of the car I'm not sure what to do. I really just want to find Holly, and I have a feeling a certain singer is not going to let that happen.
But right now he's still scared of me, so when I just start walking without a real destination in mind he just quietly follows. I end up leading us around the perimeter of the arena, and through a back door that spills us out on to the floor of what will later be his sold out concert.
It's peaceful inside. Silent. We're the only ones inside a space that will later hold tens of thousands. It's sort of fitting, underlining how I feel, just being one of an amount I probably can't even fathom.
I keep walking until I reach the back of the floor seats, farthest away from an exit, where we'll likely find the most privacy, and he remains a few steps behind until I stop.
"Charlie." His voice sounds just like it did in the car, and I almost feel bad because he really didn't do anything. It's not his fault his past caught up with him, right in front of me. So I say that, because I don't really know how else to start this giant conversation.
"I mean, it is your fault, I suppose," I add at the end, toeing the ground with my black converse and keeping my eyes down at the concrete. "You used to do things like that."
My eyes flip up, because I suddenly get bold and don't really feel like myself at all. "You used to do things like her."
I don't know what hurts more; that I used to be in the same position as her and therefore could have actually been her, bumping into him somewhere he used to take me and slipping him my number, or the way I feel knowing the other girls probably looked much more like that one than me.
"I did." He nods, voice firmer than I expect. "I did. Every fucking night and it made me feel completely empty."
He's not getting out of this that easily, crying rehab and being a lost boy. I'm not letting him.
I shake my head, the miniature blonde with the big boobs and white blonde hair behind my eyelids. "No. No. We couldn't be more opposite, Zayn. You actually couldn't find someone more different than me if you had put out a fucking casting call."
"I loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you..." He begins but it's a dead end.
"Right, but you've been in this city between then and now, haven't you? You did an entire tour last fall and you... you were here. You were-" my voice cuts out because bile is rising and it's something that didn't click until he brought it to my attention.
"Because you kept running, Charlie!" He's yelling now, and he's desperate, because I'm crying and keeping my arm straight out in front of me to keep him at a distance. "Every morning you'd leave and I didn't think in my wildest fucking dreams I had a shot with you."
I keep my arm out, but I suspect he's right. I had a part in the fact that he's slept with that girl at least once since we met. I knew there had been plenty in between; I just hadn't been forced to come face to face with any of them.
"I shouldn't have stopped. I should have just kept fucking walking." He's talking to himself, fingers laced behind his neck, head down. "I'm an idiot. I'm a proper fucking idiot."
"She looks nothing like me." I don't know why that's what I'm focusing on most at the moment, but I suppose it's because I've always had a little insecurity when it comes to tiny girls, because I'm tall, and I think all brunettes are born with some ingrained competition with blondes. We don't want to lose out to them. Or think the love of our lives may prefer them.
"She looks like nothing compared to you." He changes my sentence around and looks me dead in the eyes, with a painfully hard intensity that makes me know he means it.
"You're all I want. Ever."
I wipe my eyes hastily and my breath hitches, but I don't break eye contact. We stay that way, for a heavy minute.
"I wish there weren't so many others." I say it honestly. Because that's the very bottom line of all of this, and it makes him crumble into tears.
"Me too." He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful and sad that I launch myself into his arms and bury my head into his neck, my instinct to comfort him.
Which is probably, fundamentally, love. The way I can suddenly suspend my emotions and want only to make him feel better when he looks that way.
He squeezes me tightly, one hand at my back and the other in my hair, and I can feel his chest heaving with the tears. "I don't deserve you, Charlie."
He repeats it like a mantra, alternating with apologizing and saying how much he loves me, and his chest eventually stops rolling and I pull away, feeling calmer and less worked up.
"Are we okay?" He finally asks, as I wipe stray tears off his cheeks with my palm.
"We're okay." I nod. And I mean it. Because it really wasn't his fault she was at that restaurant, and because it's not like I learned anything I didn't already know about his past, and because sometimes I forget he's Zayn Malik, who went from that Zayn Malik to this domesticated one who's fiercely, obsessively loyal to me.
"You have meet and greets," I remind him, gently.
"Will you go with me?" he asks.
I've never tagged along to meet and greets, I've always felt the fans wouldn't really appreciate me as a distraction.
When I don't answer he takes my face in his hands and kisses me impossibly gently. "Please?"
So I lean my face into his hand and nod against his palm and he smiles a tiny smile and I've weirdly ended up even more in love with him.